


Ich werde in die Tannen gehen

by Menfinske



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menfinske/pseuds/Menfinske
Summary: Heiko Hiersche leaves his old life behind. Completely behind.Renaming himself Paul Landers, his first step in getting his life straight is to get away from everything bad this summer.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24
Collections: Rammstein - Secret Santa Christmas Exchange





	Ich werde in die Tannen gehen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milrekki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milrekki/gifts).



> Aaaahhh, I'm so excited that I can finally reveal my secret santa.  
> HORANGI, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS FIC! Not all of our boys are featured but I tried to incorporate your wishes and hopefully it's come out as something that you're pleased with :D So do enjoy this preview tonight and hopefully also enjoy finishing it afterwards :D 
> 
> Also yes, my tags and summary are purposefully vague. Apologies to people not participating in the secret santa '^^.

Once upon a time, there was a man by the name Heiko Hiersche. Heiko had been a well-known name, published author of a trilogy that took off like a rocket. It hadn’t taken more than a year after the release of the first book that there had already been talks of a movie. Heiko’s wonderful and supportive husband, David, had been there the whole way, ever since Heiko first had the idea to write a book. Able to support their small but happy household in his salary, allowing Heiko all the time and peace he could have needed to write that first book. While Heiko had written the next two books David had kept his job, despite the success, to allow Heiko time in the house alone so he could let his creativity flow. He had begun to work part-time however, and the two husbands hadn’t been so happy and in love as they were then since their honeymoon. On top of that, Heiko had met some of his biggest idols in Hollywood, both for casting for his movies as well as parties he’d been invited to. For all intents and purposes, it had seemed that his life couldn’t have gone better.

But alas- things aren’t always as they seem, are they? Yes, for seven glorious years Heiko had everything he could ever wish for. He’d met the love of his life, he’d found his creative muse, he’d found fame and riches. And then came the crash. The revelation that David, sweet, wonderful, supportive David, hadn’t loved Heiko for a while. That he’d only stayed with Heiko for the money and for the house and that he had quit his job and spent all the time that Heiko believed he spent at work with his other boyfriend instead. The divorce had been painful and when Heiko had looked at his friends for support and help, it turned out they never were willing to give it. At least, not unless they were taken on a vacation. Their reasoning that it would take Heiko out of a house full of painful memories, but after vacation number four of his friend only reading and laying in the sun, Heiko knew better. His books, and the movies based off them, had caught the eye of social justice warriors, pointing out that his heroine had fallen in love with a guy so quickly. Complaining there was no diversity, no femininity. There had been a whole petition against the books, to such an extent that the ratings dropped tremendously and that the movies had been cancelled, despite the first one being nearly finished with only post-production left.

Yes, Heiko’s life had turned from wonderfully surreal happiness into a complete and utter abandoned mess. And he’d had enough. He couldn’t take this anymore. While Heiko was more than aware that life was bound to have some obstacles in the way, especially with the way he’d been soaring so far, this- this was just insane. It was too much. No person should have to lose their entire world like this, so quickly and unexpectedly, with nobody to fall back on. And so- Heiko Hiersche had disappeared. Never to be heard from again.

What happened to him, you may ask? Well, this is the story of a man who’d spent the summer rediscovering himself, away from everyone and everything. This is the story of Paul Landers, previously known as Heiko Hiersche, and the way he had rebuilt himself.

_April first 1992_

Paul looks at the map he’s holding, having been just dropped off where he is standing now. Around him is nothing but forest. Forest, forest and yet more forest. There is a very narrow path to his right as well as in front of him and though the ranger he’d spoken with prior to being brought here had circled his watchtower on the map, the path isn’t very clear on the map since it is so narrow. However- His compass claims that the front is going East, which means the other path is going to South. His tower is North-East from here, so that would indicate that the path in front of him makes more sense.

He’s in Wranger-St. Elias National Park, where he is to spend his entire summer isolated from the world. His only form of contact with anyone will be the walky-talky radio that he could use to reach the other 3 firewatchers in this section of the park. His only responsibility will be to watch for smoke and fire. Six months of nothing but nature, rest and reconnecting with himself. No more news about how big of a flop he’d become. No more fake friends taking advantage of him with their bad pretences at caring about him. No more photos of his ex-husband and his new partner, sometimes even along with the little girl they’d adopted barely two months ago. Six months to get some complete peace.

First, though, he needs to find the tower. So Paul takes a deep breath before he moves his way forward, following the path he believes would be the right one. It’s narrow and the growth by the side of the path is a clear indication that it’s a scarcely visited region. Good. Peace and quiet.

He does keep an eye on the side of the path regardless of the overgrowth, having been told that the cache where he is to take his supplies is located very nearby. It’s supposed to be bright red to contrast with the amount of green in the area, and therefor Paul spots it as soon as it’s in his line of sight. It also helps that it’s somewhat larger than he’d expected. There’s 4 doors in it and Paul opens the door for his tower with the key he’d been given. Only to ensure it works, since the bag with his supplies for the week is already in his backpack.

It’s late in the afternoon when Paul finally enters the tower that is his home for the next few months and Paul is breathing heavily. It had been three hours since he started walking and the tower itself was 25 meters up in the air to ensure he can see over the tree-tops. Paul, being an author by profession and happily in a relationship for seven years before this crappy year, hadn’t exactly been in the best shape. At least he might be after the summer, if he has to do this hike at least once a week.

Paul drops the bag on the floor next to the door, glancing around himself. The tower is moderately big, about five by five meters. There’s a single bed against the wall on one side, with a nightstand and wardrobe next to it on either side. Against the other wall is a desk along with a chair, some documents and equipment already laid out on top of it. There is a small kitchen consisting of a counter with 2 electric plates on top of it as well as a fridge and freezer. No running water anywhere, so no tap, shower or toilet. Then finally there’s a somewhat bigger table slightly out of the centre of the room with another chair underneath it. There’s some puzzles, books and comics stacked at the side of the table and Paul walks up to find a note from the previous person who inhabited this tower.

_Left these here for you. They’re all still complete. Also some equipment if you decide to work out in the corner. Don’t worry, the rinse cleaned them. -O_

Paul smiles to himself before he puts the note back onto the top puzzle, glancing around to the corner that had been in Paul’s blind spot as he’d stood in the door opening. There’s a yoga mat along with a free weight set.

“Alright. I can live with this,” Paul nods determinedly, then turns back around to grab his backpack, taking the contents out to put them in the kitchen. The power in the fridge isn’t on yet, so he takes the fuel he’d received with the supplies to the generator downstairs (panting just as much when he comes back up) and starts it up.

Once done with that, he walks over to the desk, shuffling through the documents. Judging by the titles, most of them are similar to what he’s already been sent and told in advance to coming here. Ignoring them for the moment then, Paul takes the radio and pushes the button.

“Hello. This is Landers from lookout tower 17K. Over.” He can see one tower pretty clearly from where he sits, seeing as that tower is more elevated with the terrain being higher there. To his left he can see another one with only a little effort and if he strains his eyes he can see a third to his right. Regardless of how much he squints, no third tower is visible behind him.

“Landers, hi. This is Lindemann. In the tower ahead of you,” a crackling voice comes out of the radio. Ah, so the further elevated tower is Lindemann’s area. The information he’d been giving had told that Lindemann is the manager for their section. “Glad you made it there safely. If you’ve got any questions, please use this channel. Other than that: welcome.”

“Thanks,” Paul responds.

“I’m Lorenz. Tower to your right. Please try to keep only official talk in this channel.”

“Uh- alright. Noted,” Paul states, a little confused.

“Kruspe here. Tower to your left, obviously. Don’t mind Flake, he just likes his peace and quiet. My channel is open if you want to have a more casual chat. Good luck settling in!”

“Thank you. I’ll try. Goodbye then,” Paul puts the radio back onto the desk with the initial introduction over with. Instead, he focuses on the documentation, reading where the caches on his route are, which channels to use for his co-workers, how he could make special requests for supplies to busy himself and the sort. It keeps him occupied for the remainder of the day.

_April third 1992_

After using the first day to familiarize himself with the tower and further information of his particular route and the second day to simply do nothing but lay in bed and play on his gameboy, Paul gets up early on day three. He needs to familiarize himself with the route so he can find the caches should he need them with little light to supply him.

Paul grabs the radio, setting it to the official channel. “Landers here. I’m heading out to familiarize myself with the area. It seems I need to inform you because there’s no elevated lookout from section C now?”

“That’s alright, Landers. It’s if two or more of us decide to leave our towers for an extended time. With one of us up there’s still supervision present,” Lindemann’s crackling voice returns.

“Oh? Does that ever happen?”

“Yes. We eat lunch together when the supplies are dropped. Neighbouring sections take over our watch. But you don’t need to inform anyone, that is my task and since I’m part of the lunch, I know when it happens. Good luck exploring the terrain,” Till responds. Paul nods, putting his radio on his belt and checking to see if he’s brought his bottle of water as well as granola bars and the standard supplies inside his bag before he begins to climb down from his tower.

It’s early enough in the morning that the sun has risen but hasn’t brought any heat with yet. Paul is glad for his jacket, stuffing his hands in his pockets while he begins to walk down the path he’d marked for today. If everything goes according to plan, that path will also lead to a creek he can wash himself in. Although he’s probably not going to do that just yet, not with this cold. Best to do it when heading back instead.

The trail in his section is estimated to be a six hour walk in total. Three hours to get to the South-West (where he was originally dropped and so therefor doesn’t have to go to) and three hours on the trail that leads North to different sections of the park. A warning sign should indicate where his sector ends and sector L begins. While it’s allowed to cross, it’s not recommended due to the hike already taking up quite a bit of time.

The park is beautiful. It’s no surprise to Paul. As a child, he’d spent some summers camping with his dad. It wasn’t anywhere as deep in the park as they are now, they’d barely walked more than an hour to the camping spot on Heiko’s little legs. His father had told him all kinds of stories about his hikes in the park when he was in his early twenties though. In that regard, father and son couldn’t have been much less different. Anton Hiersche had loved to explore the world, discover nature all around him, observe wildlife if given the chance. Whereas his son had always loved to explore worlds inside his head more, develop characters and discovering their journeys.

Paul bites his lip, the thought bringing back unwanted memories. Memories of petitions, bad reviews and complaints. Maybe Paul should have gone on a journey of the world before building his own. Discover people’s opinions and views instead of writing down his own. Then maybe this particular fiasco could have been avoided. Paul kicks at piece of wood on the dirt, sending it flying into the undergrowth beside the path.

“Just keep walking, Paul. Put those thoughts out of your head. That’s what you’re here for,” he reminds himself. And sure enough, putting his hands on the bands of his bag, he focuses on the path instead, moving his feet to follow it.

Following the path should by no means prove difficult. According to the map, there are only two branches off this particular path. They’re deep enough in the woods only experienced hikers pass through here and therefor there isn’t the same maze of routes crossing each other as there are in some sections. One branch that does exist shouldn’t cause too much of a detour, given that there’s a cave after about half a kilometre that is gated and can only be accessed through requesting the key from a ranger. The other path leads to the creek where Paul intends to eventually go regardless.

What proves more difficult to manage is Paul’s own head. Out here in the silence, where Paul intended to get away from the negativity, it seems to play in a loop. It turns out that this few distractions is far from beneficial. It’s not so much that Paul already regrets coming here, because lack of new negativity at this point in his life is honestly- as sad as that sounds- positive. It’s simply that he’s disappointed clearing his head hadn’t been as simple as being remote.

‘You can’t run from your problems.’ The thought echoes through Paul’s head. It’s what his psychiatrist had told him when Paul had informed her of his intention to distance himself this summer. When Paul had asked her, in return, what he should do then, she had given her response. ‘You have to process all this negativity. It won’t go away, it’s affected you. It doesn’t matter how much distance you put between yourself and the world or how long you leave. As long as you don’t process why it’s affecting you and how you can help that, then you’ll be just be unhappy when you return and have to face similar things.’

“Easier said than done,” Paul grumbles to himself. “Easier said than done.”

By the time Paul does reach the creek, he’s walked well over five hour. The creek, fortunately, is only about twenty minutes from his tower. It’s a rather beautiful spot as well. There’s a bit of a clearing around this particular spot that allows the sun to shine on the creek and some of the grass surrounding it. And due to the lack of trees in this particular spot, the slope of the hill beyond Lindemann’s lookout tower is visible. Along with potential sunsets, if Paul isn’t mistaken about the direction.

Regardless of how beautiful this spot is and how convenient it is to be able to bathe somewhat close to his tower, it does not make Paul less miserable. He sits down by the side of the creek, hooking his arms around his knees. The whole day negative thoughts had been flooding his brain. They’d gotten a break when Paul reached a particular point that turned out to be a drop into a cliff which looked quite beautiful and Paul imagined how much fun his heroine would have had impressing her romantic interest by scaling the side of the rocks with apparent ease. Given his train of thought, however, the respite had been appallingly short, since the voices repeat in his head ‘Women don’t live just to please men!’ ‘She can just enjoy herself without wanting to impress a man!’ ‘Why wouldn’t she be able to scale it? Because she’s a woman.’ Paul had quickly turned his back to the drop and kept walking.

It’s somewhat less silent at the creek, with the noise of the water streaming next to him. Not loud enough to drown his thoughts out, it’s far too calm water for that, but it’s nice regardless. Paul begins to take off his clothes before he steps into the creek. He practically hisses when he does so. While the day had begun to warm up sufficiently Paul was warm between the sun and hiking, the water doesn’t appear to have absorbed enough of the heat. It’s shockingly cold and Paul washes himself quickly and mostly by wetting the washcloth, instead of wading further into the creek to be in the water more. At least, however, the water is shockingly cold enough to keep his mind on that and the task at hand and no longer think of other things.

He is quick to towel himself dry once the cold water no longer has to touch him, since he is clean, and he quickly goes to sit in the sunshine to warm up, instead of heading into the shadows between the trees already. And it’s then, as he’s sitting there with his eyes closed that his radio begins to crackle before a voice comes through.

“Hi Landers. Did you enjoy the hike?” Kruspe’s static voice comes over the radio.

“I haven’t quite finished yet. I was washing up at this creek,” Paul says, rather than responding to the actual question of whether he enjoyed it.

“Oh, brave guy. Water must still be freezing.”

“Well- it is,” Paul acknowledges. He hears some grinning through the radio. “Hey, but it’s better than hiking for 5+ hours and smelling.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere and you won’t see us for another five days yet. And nobody anytime sooner either. What’s the matter with smelling?”

“What, so you wash only before those lunches?”

“If you’re lucky,” Kruspe responds, laughing through the radio. “Honestly, Till barely every washes up. You won’t smell me with him near, so sometimes I skip a week. Especially if the water is still this cold.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Paul pulls a face.

“First year as a firewatch, huh?” Kruspe guesses. “Trust me, it’s so remote and isolated. Give it a few weeks tops and you won’t particularly care anymore either.”

“I’m not so sure my own nose will agree.”

“Mh. Want to bet on it? How about- If it takes you more than 8 weeks to stop bathing more than once a week, I get to take your fresh produce and you get my stupid canned food in its place.”

“A bet, huh?” Paul asks, smiling slightly. “Sure thing, I’m in. And have fun with your beans when I undoubtedly do win.” A static laughing sounds through the radio before Kruspe closes the connection for now.

_April sixth 1992_

It’s early in the day when Paul already is dressed and ready to leave his tower. Today would be the first time he’s going to gather his supplies as well as his first face-to-face meeting with Lindemann, Lorenz and Kruspe. Honestly, for Lorenz it will basically be his first meeting at all. The man hadn’t said a word over the radio since his introduction. Lindemann checks up on him every other day so far, asking how he’s doing and if he should need anything. Kruspe had called in about three times by now, more casual conversations.

Paul grabs his radio and the bag before he walks out the tower and closes it behind him, tuning the channel to Kruspe’s channel.

“Landers to Kruspe, come in.”

“Hey. You know where to go to get the supplies, right?” Kruspe answers after a moment passes.

“Yes. I was calling to ask about Lorenz, mainly. Is he friendly or do I have to watch myself around him during the lunch?”

That actually makes a tin laugh sound through the radio. “Oh, no, Lorenz isn’t dangerous or anything. He’s just uh- well, most people don’t come to the middle of nowhere because they love social interaction. Lorenz’ limit is about once a week. But he’s friendly enough. Especially with Lindemann around, and Lindemann is usually the first to arrive at the spot.”

“I thought he wasn’t meant to leave until we had?”

“Well, he’s not,” Kruspe acknowledges. “But he’s a fast hiker. It rarely happens that I’m first and- well, I can’t quite recall Lorenz ever being first, if I’m honest. Whether it be intentional or not.”

“Why would it be intentional?” 

“With him? Who knows. Because it reminds him of home to be late? Those good old days? When he went dumpster diving for his shoes.”

Paul laughs a little in return. “Right. So Lorenz is a non-talkative nostalgic man, huh? Although I doubt it has to do with dumpster diving. I’d imagine you’d want to be in time before others get there or even before the trash gets collected.”

“Ah, yes, you’re right there,” Kruspe hums. “Because in the old days they would have thought you were a spy if you showed up early? Working with the commies. Hell, that works double for him. Nobody would doubt he would be up for working with the commies.”

“What?”

Kruspe once again laughs. “Right, you don’t actually know him. Lorenz used to live in the GDR. Actually, he seems to be quite fond of it.”

“Fond of it?” Paul makes a face. Having grown up in the US all his life he’d obviously heard Western propaganda and therefor it’s easy to disregard the GDR as ‘bad’.

“Yeah. Although I don’t actually think he’d be spying for any commies. As much as he seems fond of it, I get a little rebel streak from him. Hey, if you’re interested, you should ask him about it. He likes to talk about it. Hell, he’ll even get this goofy little smile on his face when he gets to talk about it.”

“Alright,” Paul agrees, pausing for a moment to check the map since he walks up on a part of the creek too deep to cross like this. Where had he taken a wrong path? He’d gone this way before. “Hey, Kruspe, I’ll hang up for now, okay? Guess I can’t mindlessly wander the right path yet.” In response, he only hears Kruspe laughing before the radio cuts off with their channels closed.

By the time Paul reaches the supply box, all of the other three are already there. Which is unsurprising given that Paul presumably has the most trouble navigating this park already, with the other three being here for however long they’ve been here, not to mention his little detour.

“Good afternoon Landers.” Paul recognizes Lindemann’s voice. He’s sitting sideways on the picnic bench, eyes on Paul as soon as he’s in sight. The other two, one with his back toward Paul and one mightily interested in inspecting the contents of the bag in front of him, hadn’t paid him mind before.

“Landers! You didn’t get too lost, I see,” Kruspe’s voice sounds amused as he turns around to look at Paul. There’s a shit-eating grin on his face and Paul rolls his eyes.

“I can navigate, you know. I just thought I remembered the route,” Paul defends himself.

The man inspecting the contents of his bag is then, by deduction, Lorenz. He’s more skinny than Paul would have expected anyone that hikes here regularly to be. He finally looks up though, gives Paul a curt nod, before he focuses on his bag again.

“Clearly you remembered it with great success,” Richard taunts him. Paul takes the contents out of the cache that are for him, taking the bag to the table before sitting down next to Lorenz.

“Here,” Lindemann says, grabbing a cup and pouring him a glass of water. “We can have a beer after we finish lunch. While you’re free to order in alcohol for in your alcohol, it’s not exactly wise to drink them here during our lunches, as appealing as it might seem.”

“Oh- okay,” Paul nods. He hadn’t actually planned on getting drunk here, but then he supposes that once he gets somewhat more familiar with these men it might be appealing to sit on the logs, nurse a beer and pass the afternoon in peace before heading back.

“We quite literally lost someone here a few years back who got so drunk he couldn’t find his way back to his tower.”

“Was he ever found?” Paul questions.

“Yes. Several weeks later some fishers apparently found him. He’d been taken by the current in the creek.”

“What?” Paul exclaims. “It’s- it’s not that strong, is it?”

“Not in your section,” Lindemann confirms. “In Lorenz’ section. It begins to gain traction just pas his tower.”

“Further proof of why you should listen to him,” Flake states, “Since his tower was in what is currently Kruspe’s section.” Which means it’s directly across instead of even side by side.

“Right. So I’d best wait until next week to get drunk, then?” Paul jokes. It’s met with two very disapproving glances from Lindemann and Lorenz.

“Don’t bother, they have exactly zero sense of humour. Unless you get some beer in them first. Alas,” Kruspe holds up his hands, chuckling when Till shoves him with his elbow. “Okay, fine. Lindemann has a little humour.”

“Might not be the only thing that’s little,” Lorenz mutters under his breath. Paul glances at him in surprise, then can’t help himself from bursting out in laughter when he sees Lindemann’s glare.

_June third 1992_

“Landers. Landers. Landers. Landers.” Paul groans when the noise of his name being called over and over wakes him up. Groggily he reaches for the radio, finally pushing the button to answer. “Finally.”

“What?” Paul grumbles, beginning to sit up and glancing out the window to try and see if he catches any smoke out of the windows.

“When’s the last time you went bathing?”

Paul stops squinting out the window to try and look for any signs of fire and looks at his radio in confusion instead. Then out toward Kruspe’s tower (though he couldn’t possibly see Kruspe from here regardless), then back to the radio.

“You’re calling me at shit o’clock to ask me when I last bathed? Are you drunk again?” Paul groans, letting himself lower down onto his bed again. Stretching lazily. God, he hates early mornings.

“Again? Paul, it happened two times in the course of two months. Besides, you’re glad for the company, don’t lie to me,” Kruspe huffs. And yes, Paul can’t deny that. Being out here in the wild by himself hadn’t exactly been the blissful, relaxing summer he had in mind. He’s often quite bored, missing people to talk to. Lorenz and Lindemann are basically non-present unless it’s their lunch and Paul can’t live with only having one social interaction a week. Kruspe, therefor, is a lifesaver. Then again-

“Psh, don’t flatter yourself. You’re just as glad for the company as I am. I’m sure you’re glad the person to replace the previous person in this tower is just as talkative.” That actually makes a laugh sound through the radio.

“What? Oh lord, that’s uh- yeah. You’ve never met Riedel, have you? No, dude was good fun. We had some good times. He even liked to play pranks on Lorenz, much to Lorenz’ misfortune. But talkative isn’t something I’d call him,” Kruspe explains his sudden laughter.

“Mh? So how did you pass your summers prior to me arriving here?”

“Porn, obviously.”

“Right. So uh- why do you need to know when the last time I bathed is? Is your porn no longer sufficient, do you need the real deal?”

“How about you answer instead of avoid the question?”

Paul pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to remember. The days easily flow into each other here, with nothing to define any of them except for the weekly lunches. Although- yeah, wait. He did go to the place where the creek is deeper and broader just three days ago. Since it had already been warm and sunny, he’d looked forward to spending the day swimming and enjoying the rays of sunshine.

“Right. Yeah, three days ago. Actually, imagine you already know, but you should go to the spot I went. It’s only a little ways into my section from yours. Creek is nice and calm but big enough to swim a little,” Paul finally responds.

“And- and before that?”

“What before that, Kruspe, I barely remembered when I last went. Uh, let’s think the time before that- well, actually. It must’ve been six days ago. The day before our lunch. Same as always.”

“Huh. Well, I’ll be damned,” Kruspe grumbles. “So much for my fresh produce. Fine, fine. I’ll relent. You won the bet.”

“What bet?” Paul asks.

“Your first week here. We bet on how long it would take before you’d go longer than a week without bathing,” Kruspe reminds him. And yes, at this reminder, a flicker of remembrance begins to light in Paul.

“Oooh,” he exclaims, really quite pleased with winning a bet he didn’t even remember. “Right, that bet. Well, I told you I wouldn’t go more than a week. Man, I love bathing. Why would I give up the one thing I like in this boring, isolated place?” Paul laughs.

“Well, excuse me Mr. Clean-freak,” Kruspe says and Paul can just imagine the face he’s making.

“Well, I’m excited to have some extra fresh, delicious food to entertain myself with thanks to it,” Paul says between some laughter. “I’ll tell Lindemann to hold you accountable for not grabbing the supplies and leaving before I show up.”

“Oh god. Don’t tell him, he won’t let me hear the end of it. He’s still rubbing it in my face that Lorenz was right about that stupid plant giving you a rash. As if the bloody itch wasn’t bad enough,” Richard groans, earning him another laugh.

_June ninth 1992_

“There you are. I was beginning to think you’d bailed and wanted to stay a dirty boy forever,” Paul says when the figure of Kruspe appears in the clearing around the creek.

“Hey, it’s a further walk from my tower than it is from yours,” Kruspe defends himself. Paul shakes his head, but doesn’t point out that he’d actually left quite a bit later than Kruspe had. Instead he wades to the edge of the creek, climbing out to give Kruspe a hug, waving away his protests of how wet Paul is and how dry Kruspe’s clothes are.

“Dude, we came to swim because it’s summer and it’s warm. Your clothes will be dry before you know it,” Paul says. “There, hang them over the branch over there. Then come join me in the water.”

Kruspe looks hesitant, throwing a dirty look at the creek. A very dubious, dirty look, in fact. Paul furrows his brows, wondering what suddenly has Kruspe looking this way when he had gladly agreed to the plan to meet up to go swimming today yesterday.

“It may be warm here, but isn’t that freezing cold?” Kruspe asks, nodding his chin at the creek. As though it wasn’t clear from the way he’s entirely focused on said ‘offender’.

“No, it’s not that deep. I’m not that tall, but I’ll bet Lorenz can stand up at the deepest point. Lindemann too, I think. I can feel the bottom with my toes if I stretch my feet. It doesn’t take long to warm up shallow water.”

“Mh. Well, alright. But I’m going to have a drink first. Long walk to get here,” Kruspe states. Paul grins at the obvious procrastination, though he doesn’t protest further. He simply grabs his bottle of water and sits across from Kruspe.

“Did you dream again, last night?” Paul asks after a few moments of silence. It might be the cause for Kruspe’s sudden distrust of the water and lack of enthusiasm at meeting up, after he’d seemed so excited yesterday.

Over the course of these past two months, they’d begun to open up to each other. At questions of why Paul had come here where it was so isolated, Paul had told Kruspe that he’d had to get out of reach from the news. He hadn’t told the full truth of course, but he’d alluded to his ex-boyfriend and his new family and that he’d ended up isolated without any actual isolation. Kruspe, in turn, had opened up about having been involved with some bad people in his past and having done some bad things.

And where Paul eventually told Kruspe that this isolation- it made him be stuck in his head during the day, worrying and wondering about what else was going wrong for when he gets back, Kruspe had admitted that he nightmares. That he’d wake up in the middle of the night, almost floating in fear-sweat, looking everywhere to try and find someone holding him at gun-point.

But, to his surprise, Kruspe eventually shakes his head. He doesn’t elaborate further on anything, though, he simply draws his knees up to himself and rests his arms on top of them, glancing a little way up and closing his eyes when the sun rests on his face.

Paul leaves it be. He takes another sip of the water before he gets up and gets back into the water, turning onto his back and floating in the water, mirroring Kruspe’s move of letting his face bask in the sun. He stays that way until he catches movement from his peripheral vision and glances up to see Kruspe had gotten up and is standing at the water’s edge, seemingly unaware of Paul’s attention on him.

Grinning smugly to himself, Paul begins to move his feet up and down, creating splashes that hit Kruspe since the distance is minimal. Kruspe actually lets out a very undignified squeal before he takes a quick step back, then glares at Paul. Who laughs in response.

“Oh come on, Kruspe. I was just trying to make you realize it’s not cold,” Paul lies. Kruspe looks as unconvinced as- well, in all fairness, as Paul probably sounded. “If you come into the water you can take revenge.”

“Do you take me to fall for such obvious bait?”

“Yes,” Paul replies without missing a beat. Kruspe shakes his head, though he seems no less determined to make Paul pay. And indeed, a moment later Kruspe finally jumps into the water, immediately headed for Paul. Who easily dodges and swims away a little, Kruspe slower behind him.

He manages to stay ahead of Kruspe for the entire width of the stream, though on his way back he makes the mistake of laughing while his face is underwater and subsequently chokes on the water that streams in. He stands up, still coughing and laughing, and holds up his hands.

Not that it makes Kruspe take pity on him. He gets tackled into the water, where he doesn’t stay more than a moment. Kruspe resurfaces a moment later, brushing his hair out of his face and looking at Paul somewhat worried that he’s still coughing.

“Sorry. I uh- realized you were holding up your hands too late. Are you alright?” Kruspe questions.

“Yeah,” Paul manages between coughs. “Just- need to clear the dirty water from my lungs for a bit. Honestly, my own dumb move was worse than getting tackled.”

“What, are you saying I can’t tackle well?” Kruspe asks, putting his hands at his sides and pretending to look insulted. Paul grins, splashing some water at him.

“What, are you saying you can?” Paul wiggles his eyebrows, making Kruspe narrow his eyes. With some things, he really is easy to bait.

“Better than you without a doubt. Look at the difference,” Kruspe points out, flexing his biceps and pointing at them. Paul huffs. While the weights left behind had been one of the things keeping him occupied in this isolated piece of earth, it’s clear that he’s not Mr. Sporty 1992.

“It’s not about the size, it’s about how you use it.”

“Oh? Is that what you’ve always told your lovers, huh?” Kruspe taunts, a smug smile on his face.

“No need. I’m quite happy with what I’ve got,” Paul simply returns the smug smile. “Whereas it’s been said that some men- well, that they make up for what they don’t have downstairs by inflating the rest of their body, huh?” 

“Oh now you’re just going to go down.”

“On you? You wish,” Paul laughs. He promptly gets tackled again and has to quickly stop laughing though. Soon enough they’re wrestling each other in the stream, each trying to get the upper hand.

_June 10 th 1992 _

“My entire fucking thigh is blue.” Kruspe’s static voice comes through the radio. Paul, being sat with his legs up on the desk reading a book, rises his eyes from it to see Kruspe’s tower in the distance.

“Your poor thing,” he eventually responds. “A whole blue thigh? My entire side is blue. Plus I’ve got the scratch on my leg from that branch you ‘didn’t see’.”

“Hey, I really didn’t see it,” Kruspe claims. “Hope it doesn’t hurt too much though. I had fun yesterday.”

“Oh? And let me guess, now you’re pretending like you actually didn’t see that branch just because you fear we might not be able to repeat it otherwise, mh?”

“Right. Or alternatively I’m hoping you won’t steal Lorenz’ glasses and give them to me because I’m ‘blind’. He doesn’t like people taking his glasses.”

“Very understandable,” Paul admits. “But why does it sound like that has happened before?”

“Because it has,” Kruspe laughs. “Riedel, the dude who had your lookout last year- He liked to pull pranks and he was a super fit guy. One time with our weekly lunch, he’d taken Lorenz’ glasses and he had managed to hike up to Lindemann’s tower before Lindemann arrived. Obviously, Lindemann denied having taken or seen Lorenz’ glasses, resulting in a very pissed Lorenz when it became clear his glasses were there.”

“Did he believe Lindemann took them?” It honestly seems hard to believe to Paul, since Lindemann appears to be a caring guy without any malicious intent. Lorenz needing his glasses- well, it would be mean to steal them.

“Oh, he absolutely didn’t,” Kruspe laughs. “Regardless, it got the result Riedel intended. Rumours that Lorenz had been spending time in Lindemann’s tower.”

“Ooooh,” Paul draws it out. “Lorenz and Lindemann sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

“Exactly,” Kruspe responds. “It had the rangers gossiping for weeks, since Lorenz requested them to bring his glasses to the tower.”

“It’s a shame Riedel isn’t here. He sounds like quite the guy,” Paul muses.

“He was,” Kruspe agrees. “Although he was quite silent as well. I don’t think I’ve ever talked as much during summer months as I have this year. So thanks, Landers.”

“Kruspe?! What am I hearing? Are you quite alright? Was that- was that a sincere moment?”

“Oh shut it,” Kruspe responds, though there’s a chuckle heard before the line is closed. Paul chuckles to himself as well before he continues reading his book.

_July 23th 1992_

Paul sits with his hands in his hair, hunched over his typewriter. The paper below him is streaked, a handful of tears that had rolled down his cheeks. He had been doing so much better this past month. Far fewer thoughts of his stupid ex and his stupid ‘friends’ and his stupid haters. Far fewer times he’d wandered to the edge of a canyon with the thought ‘what if’.

He hadn’t been able to write though. However much the darkness had started to fade, he hadn’t been able to put himself behind this typewriter. Until earlier last week. After a day at the creek with Kruspe, inspiration had hit him. Out of nowhere, he’d come up with a scenario. Not a plot yet, not even fleshed out characters. But he didn’t have to restart by having a novel ready, did he? He could start small.

And so he’d sat down. He’d began typing. The words had flowed rather smoothly and within that day, he had four pages ready. For all intents and purposes, Paul had thought it a good start. And now here he sits- staring at the annoyingly blank page before him, knowing full well what had come to mind earlier. A romantic story. It had been perfect. It had featured two men, which Paul had been very proud of since social justice warriors wouldn’t be able to fault him for that, now would they? And the date had been practically movie-worthy.

Except- well, except that it was the more romanticized version of his first date with David. And just like that, Paul had crumpled, thinking of the good dates they’d had, of all the fun things they’d done together, of the way he so enjoyed laying in the grass with David, stroking each other’s back and hair and watching people in the park. And unfortunately- how David was doing that with someone else now. And how they might not be watching random people and events in the park, but what their child was doing.

“Fuck!” Paul screams, taking the paper and ripping it to shreds. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Paul grabs the paper in his hands as best as he can before going outside, throwing it out over the railing of his tower and watching them fall to the ground below. He then leans forward, putting his forehead on the metal railing. It’s unfortunately not exactly cooling, not with the summer weather, but at least it beats looking at the damned paper.

Why? It’s been nearly three months since he’d been here. Shouldn’t three months have cleared his head by now? Shouldn’t he be over David? And he’s an author, for fuck’s sake. Shouldn’t writing be easier than- than this? Than four pages in 3 fucking months? What if he doesn’t find his muse again, huh? What if this is his life now? Being miserable and alone, stuck in a tower away from any civilisation. His only contact a grumpy Commie, a kind but better-left alone tree-man and Kruspe. Oh god. What if Kruspe is his only ‘normal’ human contact from now on? He’s nice and all, but can Paul really live with only one contact? He’s not cut out for that, is he? Then again- it’s not as if he had noticed how fake his friends were before breaking up with David. Was it because he could live with only David as his company? Could he then also live with only a new partner as his company? But how in the world would he even find said partner?

“You’re spiralling, Paul,” he tells himself. “You’re spiralling and you’re high up. Come on. Let’s go on a hike, that might distract you.”

And with that, Paul gabs his radio and bag, then descends the stairs to begin down the by-now familiar trail.

_July 26 th 1992_

“Are you okay?” Paul glances at Kruspe, who in turn is looking at Paul intently. They’re sat at the creek, where Kruspe is enjoying the coolness of the water on this warm day. Paul, on the other hand, had been sat against a tree. Unspeaking, he realizes now, for quite some time.

“Why? Just because I’m quiet for a moment? I can be, you know,” Paul responds, trying to conjure up a smile. Judging by Kruspe’s face, he’s not too successful.

“It’s not for a moment. We haven’t spoken in four days now. In fact, you shut down the line after giving a short response to my question whether you were still alive.”

Paul bites his lip, averting his gaze from Richard. He grabs a stick from next to him and begins to draw figures in the sand, trying to organize his thoughts. And also, if he’s honest with himself, taking the time to minimize the damned constrictiveness in his throat.

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Paul eventually admits. “I- I’m an author. Or I used to be, at least. I haven’t written in months. I kept telling myself it was by design, that I was simply giving myself time, but- now that I’ve begun trying to write again, I fear I may have been lying to myself. That I simply wasn’t writing because I quite simply wouldn’t know what to write. In half a year now, I’ve written four pages. Four lousy, measly pages. And I haven’t even bothered to reread them, so that goes to show how I’m interested I even was in the idea, huh?”

“Well, for what it helps- you’re not an author. Not right now. You’re a lookout. Which you have been doing well. So if writing isn’t in the cards for right now, that is alright. We’ll still be here for another three months. That’s three months in which you can practise in little steps,” Kruspe states.

“Yeah,” Paul murmurs, “But what if that isn’t enough?”

“Don’t think like that,” Kruspe shakes his head. “It’s a spiral that’s- that’s a real pain in the long run, Landers. You don’t want that. Instead, think of what you can do. Okay, you may not be able to write a novel right now- but you can write small things? Hey, how about this? You write down something about your week every week. Doesn’t matter what or how much. A bit like a diary maybe. It’s small steps to begin, but it might get the creative juices flowing.”

“Keeping a diary? Isn’t that a bit- juvenile?” Paul asks.

“Well, fine,” Kruspe rolls his eyes. “If you think that’s juvenile, why don’t you challenge yourself. Why don’t you write it to me? You can drop of the letter in the supply box when we meet up for lunch. That way it won’t be juvenile and it’ll give you a challenge to actually hold you to it. So hey, that might be better anyway.”

“And you’d be interested?” Paul hesitates.

“Sure. Hey, in fact- I can do it too. That way you’ll have something to read as well. Might even feel like you’re talking to a whole four people out here with two ways of communicating with me,” Kruspe chuckles. “Oh, especially if you’re one of those authors who talks way different than you write.”

“I don’t think I am,” Paul grins, amused by the thought of being pen-pals. “But I’m all for it. Yeah, let’s be pen-pals.” Kruspe actually laughs.

“Right. Pen-pals. Because diaries are too juvenile, but the word pen-pal isn’t, huh pal?”

“You got it,” Paul agrees with a firm nod, making Kruspe laugh while shaking his head.

_July 29 th 1992_

Paul has made sure he’s at the lunch rendezvous ahead of the others. He feels strange putting the piece of paper in Kruspe’s supply box. The letter itself is honestly short and rather without actual content. It’s really just Paul bragging about being able to solve a Swedish puzzle without any calls to Lindemann for help for a change. But in his defense! Well, he had said that he struggled with writing. Kruspe shouldn’t be expecting a brilliant manuscript.

It takes only a little while before Lindemann shows up, showing his big smile upon seeing Paul and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Landers, you’re early today. Good to see you,” Lindemann greets him.

“Hey man. You as well,” Paul responds. “And yeah, I promised to help one of the rangers with some checks in my section and it didn’t take as long as expected.

“Ah, right. The trail-checks. I the result was positive? The rangers this year are eager with the upkeep, I’ve noticed.”

“Shouldn’t they be?” Paul points out.

“Well, they should,” Lindemann acknowledges with a cocked head. “But usually there’s fewer rangers around here. There was an issue with one of the bridges last year. HQ decided more rangers was the solution, rather than better materials.”

“Well, they probably want it to be cheap, since few people venture this far anyway,” Paul reasons. Lindemann nods, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Yes, you’re likely right. Anyway, if you’re here already, you can help me prepare lunch, if you want? I’ve got something special for today,” he states, grabbing his backpack and retrieving some meat.

“You’ve been hunting?”

“Yes, this morning actually. This deer is freshly skinned for our enjoyment today. I hope you like deer. I realized I haven’t actually brought deer while you’ve been a lookout. But I didn’t feel much for fishing this morning.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Come on, I’ll help you then,” Paul says, grinning at Lindemann.

_July 30 th 1992_

Paul holds the letter that Kruspe had left in his supply box in his hand. He hadn’t actually gotten a chance to read it yesterday. It seemed the deer had gotten all four of them in a good mood, and by the time that Paul had gotten back to his tower, the sun had begun to set. Rather than reading the letter while he was overly tired (after all, he had indeed had to be up much earlier due to the checks), Paul had left it for today.

_Hey Landers,_

_One of the rangers reached out to me. Apparently that cave you detour at way too often (seriously man, you’ve been here a few months now, the routes aren’t that complicated haha)? The key has turned up lost. So they’ve broken the lock. If you really wanted to go in you could. Let Lindemann or me know first, though. That way if your ass isn’t back by nightfall, we can send a ranger to check._

_Anyway, it’s calm here. I suspect I may have to keep an eye out for a bear? Honestly, way fewer wildlife than I’m used to. But also there haven’t been any bear-tracks, so maybe it’s coincidence? I’ll just keep my eye out regardless. It’s a bit boring though. I liked to occasionally come down and watch the wildlife darting about._

_So yeah. That’s my past half a week. Bye,_

_Richard_

Richard? He’d signed it off with his given name, then? Well, that was new. They never called each other by their given names. Paul glances out the window of his tower towards Kruspe’s tower, though, slightly worried that his friend might get mauled by a bear. It doesn’t last long because Paul suddenly remembers a conversation they’d had a week or two prior. Paul reaches for paper and pen and begins to write back. After all, he was struggling coming up with something to write. Responses form easier than thoughts that need to form out of thin air.

_Kruspe,_

_Well, you don’t have to worry about that cave and me. I don’t have climbing gear to spare, I barely have enough in case on the of the bridges gives out. So I’ll stay on a nice and flat surface if I do go in there. Unless, of course, I ask for extra supplies with the next drop. I might give it a chance, if I find a first superficial look interesting._

_And there’s no bear in your area, ha. You told me yourself that you’d begun to play guitar again. Wildlife doesn’t tend to sit still in the face of extra and new noise, you goofus. Especially since I can’t imagine your playing is any good. But do feel free to prove me wrong. I’ve been missing some music. It’s a shame that vinyl players take up too much electricity for the generator._

Paul ends the letter there for now, reading it over once. Yes, it’s a good start. Now just to come up with one or two things that happen this week to add to it.

_August 6 th 1992 _

Paul puts his supply bag on the small counter, though he ignores the contents for now. Instead he takes the letter that he’d put in earlier, unfolding it to make Kruspe’s handwriting visible. This letter is a bit longer than last week’s had been and Paul takes it with him as he sits down.

_Landers,_

_What do you mean Riedel had been lying about the puzzles being incomplete? You never could have guessed that he’d have done that? With all the times I warned you that he liked to prank people. You really are an idiot sometimes. But hey, at least it’s not as if you have enough room to display the finished puzzles somewhere. So who cares if there’s a few missing, you can still make the puzzle._

_Oh, and speaking of Riedel! I actually just realized I completely forgot to tell you this. I’m an idiot as well, clearly. I spoke to one of the rangers a few days ago. Apparently there had been complaints from the neighbouring quadrants that Lorenz hadn’t spotted a total of three campfires. There had been some youth who’d disregarded the rules and still made them when they set up camp. Obviously the lookout in the other quadrant noticed and informed the rangers to remove the campers, but Lorenz had remained silent. So guess what rumour has surfaced again now? All the rangers + lookouts in the other quadrant seem convinced Lorenz is spending time in Lindemann’s tower._

_Well- actually, not all of them. Ray seems convinced Lorenz is a commie who shouldn’t be trusted as a lookout because he’d love to see the park burn to a crisp. But let’s ignore Ray. And of course, Jay murmured something about Lorenz being a junkie, why else would someone be so skinny? But well- you and I both know there’s no way of getting any drugs all the way out here. Way too many official channels through which we get the supplies. Unless he had a HUGE ASS haul he’d brought here prior to summer. Mh…_

_Anyway, so yeah. Hey, if you want to join in, I’ve been telling Ray that Lorenz occasionally fidgets with the radio. That we can hear him sift through the channels and speaking Russian while he does. So please, if Ray asks you, please confirm it. It’d be hilarious._

_Richard_

Paul chuckles to himself while reading the letter. The thought of Lindemann and Lorenz together is amusing for sure. Unfortunately Paul is fairly sure he can rule it out, since he’s able to catch Lorenz’ figure in his tower if he squints. Lorenz is always there and there’s never a second person there. More likely is that he hadn’t bothered with the report since the other lookout was already after it. Not that Paul will take the joy out of gossiping for Kruspe.

“Hey, I can play guitar.” The radio crackles with Kruspe’s voice, sounding very offended.

“You read my letter, did you? Well, if you can play guitar, then what cause would the sudden decrease in wildlife have, huh? Has there been any sign of a bear by now?”

“N-no,” Kruspe acknowledges. “But it’s not because I don’t know how to play guitar. And who are you to lecture me about it even? Do you even know what a guitar is?”

“Yes!” Paul exclaims. “It’s one of long, straight things right? With like the valves you shut to make different notes?”

“A clarinet?” Kruspe questions. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, not so much think as much as hope. I mean- you blow. At least for a clarinet that’s the purpose,” Paul laughs as he hears Kruspe make an indignant sound.

“You’re a damned bastard, Landers.”

“Well, I haven’t heard you play any guitar to prove me otherwise,” Paul responds quite simply. There’s a humph on the other side and the response takes a moment before it comes.

“Well- I can’t. I have been struggling. I’m not used to playing guitar acoustically. I’m still finding my style with it. But I will show you when I have found it. I can play a damned guitar.”

“Alright, alright,” Paul chuckles, holding up his hands despite Kruspe’s inability to see it. “Fine, you can play a damned guitar. What do you usually play then, if acoustic doesn’t work?”

“Rock. Punk. Along those lines,” Kruspe responds. “It’s difficult without amps.”

“Well- that I can imagine,” Paul acknowledges. “I used to play guitar in a punk band forever ago. Nothing serious, though. I uh- actually, it wasn’t my band. It was a friend of mine’s band. Their guitarist was kind of flaky, so occasionally he’d ask me to help out.”

“Oh. So you played actual gigs?”

“Well, if you can call a club with maybe a dozen people and absolutely nobody paying attention to us a gig, then sure,” Paul laughs in response. “Yeah they uh- they did it more for fun. Or even just to be rebellious, really. Didn’t have any intentions of taking of. But hey, it was a blast. And it made it easier for me, nobody cared if I messed up.” Kruspe laughs.

_August 23th 1992_

Paul chews his lip, holding the letter he’d written for today in his hands. Debating whether to bring it or just pretend like he’d forgotten to bring it. Or even hastily write a different one.

The letter he’d written feels so cheesy. It feels so- intimate. Paul isn’t sure when it had happened. Yes, Kruspe and he had talked a lot over the summer and these letters had given an extra layer of intimacy, since it was easier to admit the difficult things without hearing or seeing each other’s reaction. But still- Paul had felt genuinely startled when he’d written down that he could never wait for his weekly swim with Kruspe. That he was always curious what this week’s letter would hold.

It felt- Paul hadn’t realized. It had snuck up on him so sneakily. There had been signs, now that he looks back sure, but who can blame him when it’s one of a total of three contacts he’d had this summer? But now- it feels like he has a crush on Kruspe. And it feels utterly ridiculous. He came here to get away from everything, not to throw himself into a new relationship that could potentially fail. Besides, he’s not even sure where Kruspe will be heading after October is over with. They might live on opposite sides of the country.

But at the same time Paul doesn’t feel like changing the contents of the letter. Because as cheesy as it is- well, they’re his feeling and it’s true. He does like hanging out with Kruspe. And while the radio is great, nothing beats his Thursdays where they go swimming together. Especially since- whether he likes to admit with this new realization, Kruspe undoubtedly has a good body. There’s not exactly much in the way of eye-candy, all the way out here in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but trees.

Paul shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts from his head. He’ll just leave the letter as-is. After all, it’s not as if Kruspe hadn’t shared some more intimate things. He feels more or less safe in doing so as a result. And this- this crush?- it would disappear. Hell, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Summer love is a thing. People experience it. So Paul just has to deal with it and go on. So that’s what he will do.

_September 12 th 1992_

_I miss you too, when we’re not talking._

That had been in the latest letter Kruspe had written to Paul. And even though it was only a single sentence, it keeps replaying in Paul’s head. Over and over and over again. Like a broken record.

It had been bad enough to deal with while they were talking over the radio. But today they’re supposed to meet up for their weekly swim. And as much as Paul is looking forward to it, as much as he _wants_ to see Kruspe and spend time with him- well, there’s no denying that his crush (because he’s no longer denying that that’s what it is) isn’t one-sided. Kruspe’s letters had gradually become more intimate. And now, with this phrase- well, it does appear very clear now.

Swallowing thickly, Paul grabs his bag before heading out the door, headed towards the creek.

Surprisingly, Kruspe is already there when Paul walks up to the creek. He’s laying on his back in the grass, hands under his head, tanning in the sun.

“Who would have thought Richard Kruspe would ever be here before I am, huh?” Paul says by way of greeting. Kruspe sits up and immediately smiles upon seeing Paul.

“Well, I’m here about the same time as I always am. You’re the one who’s late,” Kruspe points out. Which, admittedly, is true. Paul had been dallying about at the tower, rereading the letter, leaving later as a result. After a moment of silence, Kruspe glances down at the ground. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come at all. I uh- thought I scared you off. Since it had been radio-silence since Friday as well.”

“It has?” Paul questions. And he genuinely does, he hadn’t realized it’d been four days since they’d spoken. “Sorry I uh- I just genuinely hadn’t noticed.”

Paul takes a seat on the grass next to Kruspe, who has looked up again, his eyes seeking out Paul’s own. Paul doesn’t meet his though, he averts them to look at the creek instead.

“Should we talk about anything?” Kruspe questions. When Paul finally gathers the courage to glance back, Kruspe is biting his lip. His eyes are still on Paul, but it feels forced, as if he’s refusing to back down.

As if he’s waiting for rejection, Paul realizes after watching Kruspe for a moment. As if he’s afraid that the feeling isn’t mutual. That Paul hasn’t found himself thinking more and more often of Kruspe, of regretting that it might just be some silly summer crush, as if- as if Paul could stand him looking ready for rejection.

Paul leans forward, pressing his lips to Kruspe’s. Gingerly and short, a simple press of their lips against each other, before he sits back with a smile. “I don’t think talk is really necessary, is it?”

“Paul Landers?! You dog, do you want to have sex straight away?” Kruspe’s face looks genuinely surprised and Paul can’t help but laugh.

“What? What, oh no. No, that’s not what I meant. I thought it would be- never mind. I haven’t started dating anyone in forever. And I’m an author, I get to have the right for a flair of dramatic. And you’re ruining the moment,” Paul complains. At least it breaks the tension, because it quickly has Kruspe laughing as well.

_September 26 th 1992_

They lay together in the grass, enjoying the late summer sun. Both of them nude and sleepy, but very content. Paul enjoys having Kruspe in his arms, being able to press kisses along the back of his neck and his shoulders, drawing noises of surprised contentment out of Kruspe. He especially likes squeezing Kruspe’s firm pecs and exclaiming that these are the best pair of breasts he’s ever felt, making Kruspe make a noise of annoyance instead (well- sometimes he blushes at the joking praise instead, forgetting to fake at annoyance at the silly joke).

“Do you regret we only- started this two weeks ago?” Kruspe asks, quite out of nowhere, startling Paul from his thoughts. These past two weeks they’d embraced whatever status their summer romance had brought them. Talking over the radio pretty much non-stop. Lorenz had raised his eyebrow at them a lot these past two lunches. Lindemann had told some rangers off for gossiping too much. And they’d spent every other day here at the creek. But there’s no denying that two weeks is short, and the coming week is the last week for them as lookouts. It would be back to the inhabited world for both of them soon.

“No,” Paul admits. He firmly believes this needed time. He wasn’t ready for anything when he arrived here and even if he was- well, he and Kruspe had started talking because they had nobody else, ultimately. He’s not sure any of this would have worked if they hadn’t build a friendly relationship first. But at the same time, “But I wish we were needed here another month, at least.”

“Well, the very least I should hope,” Kruspe murmurs, a slight tone of amusement in his voice. “Unless you’re tired of me already.”

“Well, I was close to falling asleep when you began talking.” Paul chuckles when Kruspe elbows him, though he does wrap his arms firmer around the other man in response.

“It won’t be the same next year, will it? There will have been several months in between. Is this something we could pick up again then? Would we even want to?”

“Well- If we would want to, why should we wait until next year? Just because we do have other people to talk to outside of this park, doesn’t mean we couldn’t still talk to each other. We did find out we live only half an hour away from each other. Who’s to say we can’t meet up at home? And talk over the phone. And I’m sure the postal service can deliver letters as well.”

“Would you- would you want to?” Kruspe shifts so he can turn around and once again Paul can see the fear of rejection on his face. Paul reaches up his hand, brushing his thumb along Kruspe’s cheek.

“Yes, actually. I would like to.”

Paul watches Kruspe’s face light up, quite enjoying the sight of it. He’s a beautiful man regardless, but his smile just is the cherry on top.

“I do think we should make the most of being out here first though,” Paul says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Well, my dear sweet Richard,” Paul murmurs, bringing his lips close to Kruspe’s ear. “Out here there’s nobody around. You can scream as loudly as you want.”

“Oh my god. Are you using a damned horror trope in a sexy way now. You’re hopeless,” Kruspe laughs. Though it seems to work, for soon enough, Paul’s lips are occupied with something other than talking.

_September 31 st 1992 _

The four of them are standing at the rendezvous point. Lorenz appears to be in a particularly sour mood (Kruspe had given a warning though, it appears that Lorenz rather liked spending time alone out here and wasn’t a fan of being brought back to civilisation) while Lindemann is pretending not to grin ear to ear at the fact that Kruspe will not let go of Paul’s hand.

Well- presumably. It’s not as if Paul had made any attempt whatsoever to try and make Kruspe let go of his hand. He rather likes the reminder that being brought out of the park doesn’t mean their end of their summer romance. Or- well, Paul supposes it does bring an end to the ‘summer romance’.

At the thought, he casts a lopsided grin at the other man, surprised and happy that it had ended up like this. All those months of them beginning to bond- who would have thought that it would end up as an- well, as an actual starting relationship, Paul supposes.

“I’m going to miss our dates at the creek,” Kruspe muses when they hear the sound of the helicopter that is to take them out of the park. Paul doesn’t respond verbally, he merely squeezes Kruspe’s hand a little and places a peck on his cheek.

“Well, for what it helps,” Lindemann begins, glancing at them both, “It means you can sleep over at each other now. I’m sure a bed is much more comfortable than barebacking in the grass.” Paul laughs happily, both at the remark as well as the adorable way that Kruspe blushes. 

“Well, you are very right about that,” Paul agrees. “Think of aaaalll the possibilities.”

“Well- being able to tie you up does sound good,” Kruspe taunts. Rather than giving Kruspe the satisfaction of having a good solution for when Paul is annoying though, he simply wiggles his brows, promptly making Kruspe ever so slightly more red. “Oh you really are incorrigible.”

“And I thought you weren’t a prude?”

“I’m not!” Kruspe exclaims. “I just- blush easily sometimes. Shut up. The helicopter is here. You best be nice to me or I might decide to leave the romance here after all,” Kruspe threatens.

“Mh? Okay,” Paul says, shrugging and taking his hand back. Kruspe’s eyes widen and Paul grins, taking his hand back and pressing a kiss to Kruspe’s forehead. “I’m kidding you goofus. I love you. Now come on, Lorenz might actually murder us if we prolong his sour mood.”

And with that, the four lookouts left the park.


End file.
